My sincere apologies for ducking out on you the past week. The only defense I can offer is that I left you in the very humorous, capable, if somewhat occasionally misguided hands of Ha Ha Sound. And yes, sweetie, the nude photos are in the mail – I can’t IMAGINE why you haven’t received them as of yet!

As I have been slightly silent on the subject of the Russian, I appreciate all of the inquiries as to the situation. However, there really IS no situation. We don’t speak and as far as I can tell, he has no interest in remaining friends or even existing as common and indifferent acquaintances. Of course the fact that I went a tad Glenn Close on his ass after finding out about his new ‘love of the minute’ might have something to do with it. No, silly readers, I did not fly to New Mexico and boil the head of some innocent furry creature on his stove - but I MIGHT have commented on his unbelievable ability to fall in and out of love faster than a speeding Hallmark card; I may have SLIGHTLY raved about his complete and utter inability to remain single for even then length of a Seinfeld episode; and I could have POSSIBLY mentioned the fact that his treatment of me throughout this breakup process has been nothing but selfish, shitty, and sadistic. Not my finest moment, I'll admit. Ya – so I can’t IMAGINE why he hasn’t called!

So interaction aside – I’m doing very well. The last time I cried was approximately two weeks ago – the day after hearing about the new girl. Yes, I bet you were wondering – it was, in fact, me. I was the pitiful looking, broken hearted girl on the metro whose tears were tracing little lines of black mascara down her cheeks while she was thinking about the fact that she was no where near as special as she had come to believe over the past year. And I’m sure the acoustic version of Listen to Your Heart by DHT didn’t help the emotional containment situation. But the upside is – that was the last time. And I really can’t imagine – barring any unforeseen events or interactions – that any spontaneous outbursts of emotion would erupt anytime soon. At least not on account of the Russian.

So there’s the update for now. In unrelated and more exciting news, this DC gal will be hauling her fabulous self up to NYC for a few days and I’m definitely looking forward to it! So Ha Ha, if you happen to see a cute redhead roaming around Times Square looking slightly lost – do me a favor and point her in the right direction!

Frankly,

I hate surprises.

Unexpected visitors, last minute interruptions of plans, hot men jumping out of my birthday cakes – ok THAT one was fun. But you get the picture. I like to plan ahead, I like to anticipate the unexpected – I don’t like being caught off guard. And when my plans change, I’ve been known to push, and pout and fuss – depending on the degree to which I was committed to the original concept – until I get my way. Very Veruca of me, I admit.

However, with age comes greater wisdom and (while this may be a product of the same self delusion that keeps me believing that any day now Russell Crowe will come and carry me away) I think I’m steadily improving in my ability to roll with the proverbial punches. Unfortunatley,  surprises are unavoidable, you can’t plan for everything – hell, you can barely plan for ANYTHING. Especially when it’s the people you think you know the best who surprise you the most.

The Canadian’s visit to DC was – interesting to say the least. We had Old Ebbit brunch last Sunday and met up for a movie that night, had drinks on Thursday and he left on Friday. But Tuesday ......

Tuesday was a day of surprises. I found out I would be on national television giving Super Bowl ‘commentary’ over the weekend; I found out that one of my readers had ‘outed’ me to the Canadian; I surprised myself with a seeming lack of emotional preparedness; Astonished at the capacity for comfort that simply 'being there' can provide; and the capacity for pain others have to the one they claimed to love the most.

As you know, last week, I was definitely caught off guard as I found a comment authored by the Canadian, posted here. Staring back at me from my computer screen was an admission of his knowledge of my blog and a public offering of apology for past wrongs. I really don’t know which surprised me more – that he’s read everything I’ve ever written about him (and the other men in my life) or his confession of guilt. As if this were not enough to throw me off my daily balance – there was the break up.

The fact that the Russian broke up with me was no shock. We had scheduled it and honestly, having grown tired of my life in relationship limbo, I forced the conversation. What DID shake me was my complete lack of emotional awareness and control despite what I thought was adequate planning and mental preparation. I was mad. I was hurt. I cried.  I sounded like a girl getting dumped – which is what I was – but that's no excuse. I was incredibly angry at myself for not walking out on him over Thanksgiving, when he told me (on the night before Thanksgiving, at his parent’s house, 30 seconds after we had had sex) that he ‘needed space’ and ‘wanted to be free’. I shit you not – that’s how it happened.

I was mad for allowing this ridiculousness to drag on – to give him the ‘space’ he needed to ‘figure things out’ in the sad, pathetic hope that he would ‘see the light’ and we would live happily ever after. (Eye roll) Furthermore, I was livid for essentially giving him ‘break up training wheels’ – since he wasn’t ready to ride the big-boy, 10-speed, two-wheeler of complete singleness back in December. Add to that any sadness and feelings of loss that had not completely trickled away by this point, despite my best efforts to expel them from my mind. In short - I was a mess.

Deficiencies of emotional awareness and control aside, the biggest surprise knocked on my door an hour later. And there the 6'6 man stood - with a smile and Starbucks. And while my face looked like a punching bag and my eyes matched my hair – the Canadian sat with me. And he made me laugh. And then…. my ex boyfriend, my jealous ex boyfriend – held me. While I cried over another man.

I don’t think any other friend or even the entire bottle of vodka in my freezer could have made me feel at all comforted that night. But he did. Perhaps it was a comfort that could only be given by someone with whom you’ve felt the kind of intimacy you were now mourning. Perhaps it felt almost cyclic as the Russian was there at the end of my relationship with the Canadian – and now I was truly back at the beginning. But whatever the reason, I am immeasurably grateful for his friendship, understanding, patience and for just being there. And so to the Canadian, whether you’re reading this or not – thank you. Thank you…for surprising me.

Frankly,